is. And what a long journey to
take--and to come among strangers! Yes, she must go to bed at once."

"I'll carry her upstairs," said Warren.

"Nonsense!" protested his mother.

But he did for all that, and when he laid her on Betty's cold bed she
roused and smiled, and suffered herself to be made ready for slumber.
Then she slipped down on her knees, and said "Our Father in Heaven" in
soft, sleepy French. Her mother had taught her that. And in English she
repeated:

"Now I lay me down to sleep," in remembrance of her father, and kissed
Betty. But she had hardly touched the pillow when she was asleep again
in her new home, Boston.

CHAPTER II

IN A NEW HOME

The sun was shining when Doris opened her eyes, and she rubbed them to
make sure she was not dreaming. There was no motion, and her bed was so
soft and wide. She sat up straight, half-startled, and she seemed in a
well of fluffy feathers. There were two white curtained windows and a
straight splint chair at each one, with a queer little knob on the top
of the post that suggested a sprite from some of the old legends she had
been used to hearing.

What enchantment had transported her thither? Oh, yes--she had been
brought to Cousin Leverett's, she remembered now; and, oh, how sleepy
she had been last night as she sat by the warm, crackling fire!

"Well, little Doris!" exclaimed a fresh, wholesome voice, with a
laughing sound back of it.

"Oh, you are Betty! It is like a dream. I could not think where I was at
first. And this bed is so high. It's like Miss Arabella's with the
curtains around it. And at home I had a little pallet--just a low,
straight bed almost like a bench, with no curtains. You slept here with
me?"

"Yes. It is my bed and my room. And it was delightful to have you last
night. I think you never stirred. My niece Elizabeth was here in the
summer from Salem, and after two nights I turned her out--she kicked
unmercifully, and I couldn't endure it. Now, do you want to get up?"

"Oh, yes. Must I jump out or just slip."

"Here is a stool."

But Doris had slipped and come down on a rug of woven rags almost as
soft as Persian pile. Her nightdress fell about her in a train; it was
Betty's, and she looked like a slim white wraith.

"Now I will help you dress. Here is a gown of mine that I outgrew when I
was a little girl, and it was so nice mother said it should be saved for
Elizabeth. We call her that because my other sister Electa